


Lady Sansa and The Watchers

by sandwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (a few comments from Joffrey), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bisexual Sansa, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Lesbian Margaery, Misogyny, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Sansa-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwolf/pseuds/sandwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pop sensation Lady Sansa and rock's latest heartthrob Jon Snow walk into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in a rather long time (like days of Quizilla), so any thoughts are very appreciated! ~~I'm not sure how good the characterizations are in this- depending on feedback this will either stay a one-shot and I'll try to improve with new plot bunnies, or if it's good to go, I'll try to extend this. :)~~ Okay, I have ten chapters sketched out  & I'm very thankful for everyone's input! 
> 
> The engagement ring is [here](http://www.zales.com/enhanced-black-diamond-multi-row-anniversary-band-10k-white-gold/product.jsp?productId=18919766&page=1&kpc=1).

Sansa is already on her second dark and stromy when someone sits next to her. She doesn't greet them like she ought, lets her hair fall forward a little more to shield her. She's already done a dozen things tonight that would make _Petyr_ scream, this was nothing. 

The breakup with Joffrey had been a long time coming, catching him in bed with someone wasn't a surprise- the surprise was it wasn't Margaery like she expected, it was Jeyne. And that hurt worse than everything elsa, that Jeyne- her one friend from the northwest- could betray her like that. And then Joffrey's cruel words and Petyr saying she had to get back together with Joffrey and, and, and-

Sansa slams the empty glass down harder than she intends to, and her new neighbor gruffly asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Sorry,” comes to her lips quickly, as does brushing her hair behind her ear and an apologetic smile. “It's been a rough night.” Petyr's voice is back in her mind, slyly whispering how she's only been alone in the world for an hour and she's already well on her way to destroying her image. 

“Is there any way-” she starts, finally looking up at him. “Oh fuck, you're Jon Snow.” 

His lips quirk up into what might almost be a smile, and he asks the bartender for more drinks. “Aye, and you're Lady Sansa.” 

Sansa blushes, liquor loosened enough to say, “Please, call me Sansa. I've always hated that name.” 

“Alright Sansa,” Jon says as the bartender brings them two fresh drinks. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Sansa sharply says, and then hastens to add, “I mean, I knew he was cheating on me. But with my childhood friend who tours with me? Gods, I confided in Jeyne about him too, about my worries and if I should sleep with him-” Flushed, Sansa cuts herself off, sips deeply from her glass. “Sorry, how's your day been?” 

“About the same.” 

Sansa raises an eyebrow, smiling a bit in spite of everything. “Oh? Do tell.” 

Jon shrugs, placing a small black box on the bar. “My girl- my _ex_ girlfriend thought I was moving too fast and told me she never wants to marry.” 

“Oh no, what will happen with the band?” Sansa slaps a hand over her mouth once the words are out, “Ohmigod, I'm so sorry- that was awful of me. Are you okay?” 

“It's fine. I should get used to that question.” Jon swallows a long pull, and Sansa's debating if she should say something when he adds, “I have no fucking clue. Shit, you listen to us?” 

Sansa's tempted to lie- the silky voice is back telling her to seduce Jon, to steal back the headlines before they can even turn against her. But she doesn't obey that voice anymore, and she takes a little vicious joy in saying, “Not really, sorry. My older brother's a huge fan though, he tried out when you guys were still _Watchers_.” 

“No shit,” Jon says. 

“Mhmm,” Sansa says, chuckling. “He cried for like a week when he didn't get it.” 

Jon shakes his head, “We weren't even good back then.”

“I have to say, changing to _The Watchers_ is a way creepier name.”

Jon laughs, “I know! Mel, our manager, swore up and down that it would land us a larger audience.” 

Sansa shrugs, “Well it didn't hurt.” 

“Nah,” Jon tilts his head, “what's your brother's name? The one that tried out?” 

“Robb-”

“Robb Stark?”

“Yeah...” Sansa says slowly. 

“I forgot that's your last name- we're still in contact. He's been sending me demos he does with uh, Theo? Thomas?” 

“Theon,” Sansa says with a smile. “Good, I've been telling them to send them places but he always ignores me.” 

Jon snorts, grabbing his mug and accidentally sliding the little black box another inch in, both sets of eyes following it. 

Sansa licks her lips, “Feel free to say no, but can I look at it?” 

“Aye, someone should. Ygritte wouldn't even open- tell me what you think,” Jon says. 

Sansa bites her lip, her fingers already trembling on the box, “Are you sure?” 

Jon nods, and Sansa opens it. She gasps immediately at the ring- she always thought she was a traditional diamond ring kind of girl but this… This was a shining white gold ring, the top half completely covered in tiny black diamonds, at least seven rows of them. Her fingers are absently petting the box and she wonders if it would be awkward to offer to buy it off him. Well, it'd definitely be awkward but if it'd be like mean awkward. Or maybe she could ask what jeweler it came from-

“That bad?” Jon asks. 

Sansa's eyes flash up to his, “Oh no! This is the most beautiful ring I've ever seen.” She pauses, adopting a joking tone, “Hell, I'd marry you for it.” 

He doesn't laugh, but the atmosphere feels lighter all the same. “You don't even know if it fits you.” 

Sansa holds her breath, eyes dipping down to the ring again. 

“Try it on,” Jon adds, his voice a little extra gruff before he finishes off the beer.

If Sansa were sober, she would have politely declined- at least once more. But she's tipsy and greedy, and she _really_ wants to see what the ring looks like on. 

She does have enough sense to try it on her index and middle fingers first, but it doesn't fit right, slipping sideways on the first and far too tight on the second. With a little wince, Sansa slides it onto her left ring finger and it fits perfectly. 

“It's so gorgeous,” she says, holding her hand up. Her manicure even matches, white with black polka dots, and it feels like fate. “She's an idiot.” 

Jon's lips quirk up into another almost smile, “So was yours.” 

The bartender brings them another round, and Sansa can't remember asking, but she's grateful all the same. Tonight's been all rebellion- drinking something that isn't cute and sweet, talking to someone who definitely wasn't on her 'approved to be seen with' list, and dumping Joff and Petyr of course. 

“I almost want to send Joffrey a picture,” Sansa says, tilting her hand back and forth to admire the ring. “He'd _die_.” 

“...well, why can't you?” Jon asks. 

Sansa sighs, thoughtlessly adopting her public voice, “It'd look pathetic.” Her voice slides back to normal, “He'd probably say things I don't wanna hear.” 

Jon nods, “What if I sent it?” 

Sansa laughs, but then stops suddenly. “That- that could work. In a twitter message, only he'd see it and even if he screencapped it, those get faked all the time. No one would believe him and he'd look awful.” Sansa bites her lip to keep from smiling too big, “You sure? He might do something nasty to you.” 

Jon rolls his eyes, putting his hand on the counter. “I've dealt with far worse than a spoiled rich kid. Put your hand on top.” 

Sansa does, blushing far more than not even hand holding- _hand posing_ \- calls for. 

“Good,” Jon says, using his right to snap a picture. He sneaks his hand out from under hers to type, and Sansa picks up her too warm hand, focusing on the ring. 

“He's _princejoffrey_ right? Fucking ponce.” 

Sansa giggles, “Yup.” 

“Done,” Jon says, leaving his phone on the table and lifting his mug to cheers. 

“To us,” Sansa says, holding a serious expression for all of a second. 

Jon laughs and drinks with her, and Sansa can't remember the last time she felt this happy. 

“Thank you Jon, tonight ended up a lot better than I would have ever guessed.” 

Jon smiles, a real smile- and Sansa feels so victorious, and he's about to say something when his phone starts vibrating. 

“Maybe the brat replied,” Jon says, opening the app. “What the...” 

Sansa leans over, pales at what she sees:

**@watcherjon**  
11:43pm: _thanks mate @princejoffrey_  
216 retweets, 539 likes

“Um, I thought only he could see it?” 

Sansa doesn't know if she wants to cry or laugh or scream, so she settles for an amused, “Have you ever used twitter before?” 

Jon blushes, “Mel usually does it.” 

Laughing wins, until Sansa's phone starts going wild, the text message chirp for Joffrey going off. She has to change that, or maybe get a new phone, or-

11:45pm: _i kno thats fake_  
11:45pm: _a new low for u_  
11:46pm: _did u pay him or just promise him a go at your ice queen cunt?_

Sansa clicks back to her phone's homepage quickly, hoping he didn't see- but Jon's frowning. 

“We could be engaged.” 

Sansa smiles, wonders how she found the sweetest man in the world in a shitty Flea Bottom bar. “It's fine. That's really nice of you to offer, but this'll blow over.”

Jon scratches the back of his neck, frowning at some of the tweets crossing his phone. “Nah, fuck 'em.”

“Yeah?” Sansa asks, and she's smiling with too many teeth and she doesn't care. 

“Yeah,” Jon agrees, clinking her glass. “To us.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wakes up with an unfamiliar person in her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, for Jon's parentage this is r+l=j compatible but you can also imagine r+anyone=j. Rhaegar & Elia are the ones who raise him regardless, and who Jon thinks of as his parents. 
> 
> I'll be adding character and pairing tags as we go to try and keep some of the mystery alive. I super appreciate the warm reception this fic's gotten so far <3

There's a ringing that won't stop, loud and awful. Sansa fumbles for her cell and then the landline, hearing an overly chipper, “Wake up call for Lady Sansa!” 

“Thank you,” she grumbles, mouth feeling like ash as she hangs up and runs a hand down her face. By the gods, she feels _terrible_. Definitely not anything like a lady or-

There's someone beside her. Not Joffrey, there's no uncomfortable overly tight grip. And it's not Margaery either, with her soft hair and cuddles. No one comes to mind that doesn't sleep closer to her, and she rubs her eyes once more. Peering over her shoulder, and seeing Jon, swirls of last night come back to her. With wide eyes, she looks down at her left hand, and yup- the ring is still there, still unbelievably gorgeous. 

She sits up, admiring her fake fiance as he sleeps. He doesn't seem to snore, a plus. It also wasn't the booze last night- he's ridiculously good looking. Sansa wonders briefly if it'd be too tacky to convince him to do a music video with her. He'd have to be shirtless for some of it, it'd be too cruel to deny the world his abs- or really his whole torso. Which sounds a little more creepy than sexy, and it doesn't matter anyways because she's already imposing so much on him. She can't just keep adding things up like that. 

Jon's eyes flutter open, a small smirk on his lips. “My eyes are up here.” 

Sansa blushes bright crimson, throwing a pillow at him and sliding out of bed. Jon tucks the pillow behind his head, sitting up more. 

Sansa slips her dressing gown over her pajamas that feel a lot smaller with Jon here. “I understand if now sober you've changed your mind about our, engagement. If you haven't,” Sansa continues, ignoring his open mouth, “we should probably figure out our story.” 

“Can't we get breakfast first? Coffee?” 

Sansa's about to say no- they only have an hour until her mother will decide it's late enough in the morning to call, and their plan needs to be solid by then- but then her stomach growls and Jon's already found the room service menu. She supposes at least breakfast in bed is a rather new engagement thing to do. 

Twenty minutes later, Sansa's brought both trays onto the bed, as her room only has a tiny side table. Freshly showered and nibbling on a piece of toast she feels much more human. 

Jon comes out of the bathroom then, goes straight to the coffee and Sansa's more than a little struck by him in just a towel, hair still dripping as he chugs the cup. He pours himself another one, and sits on the bed carefully so as to not disrupt the food. 

“Much better,” he says, and Sansa's throat is suddenly dry. To remedy this, she takes the glass of orange juice, but ends up putting it back after a disappointing sip that crinkles her nose. 

“Bleh, there's pulp in that.” 

Jon shrugs, placing it on the tray closer to him. “So our story?” 

“Right, something friendly. Um...” 

“We could've met at a concert,” Jon suggests. 

Sansa raises an eyebrow, “Mine or yours? No, that's too easy to disprove. My last manager knew my schedule inside and out.” 

“So something online then, we've been emailing.” 

Sansa's eyes light up, “We're working on a song together.”

Jon snorts, and Sansa plucks a grape, rolling her eyes, “Well do you have a better idea?” 

“We don't have a song,” Jon says. 

She grins, “That doesn't matter. Once we break up, our song will die- it'll be an amiable break up but it's just too soon to finish collaborating and maybe one day in the distant future we'll finish it.” 

“Okay, so we're friendly and we ran into each other last night. Got drunk and...” Jon drifts off, picking up his coffee. 

“Jeez, do you want everyone saying I'm pregnant?” 

Jon chokes, and Sansa laughs, handing him a napkin. 

“It's okay- I think it's the most believable and the photographs will help.” 

Jon swears, “I forgot about that.” 

Sansa raises an eyebrow, “You don't usually get paparazzi trailing you?” 

“No, I mean,” Jon swallows, avoiding her eyes. “I um, the kiss.” 

Sansa shrugs, going for the rest of the fruit salad. “You kissed my hand, so?” 

“They're going to want more- we should um, talk about boundaries,” Jon says. 

“I've never been overly affectionate with my exes. Some light pda- hand holding and chaste kisses. You?” Sansa asks, trying to keep her voice even. 

Jon's not meeting her eyes again, ripping a bread roll to smaller and smaller bits. “Ygritte was um, very demonstrative. Val was more like yours.” 

“Okay. I'm fine with that, are you?” 

Jon nods, and Sansa feels a little relieved. Their story isn't totally set, but it's close enough and they can work with that. 

“Yeah.” Jon stops ripping the bread, dusts off his hands. “So are we in love?” 

Sansa freezes- she doesn't think she can fake that, doesn't _want_ to fake that. “Perhaps we plan on a long engagement?” 

“I've met your parents before, with Robb.” 

“ _What_.” 

Jon scratches the back of his neck, sharply reminding her that he's half naked and gorgeous and in her bed. Sansa shakes herself out of it, “When?” 

“Last year I think? I was in the area and wanted to hear his stuff live, we jammed a little and he insisted on bringing me to dinner.” 

“Oh gods, she's going to-” Sansa's cut off by her phone going off, and she _knows_ it's her mother before she even looks. 

“Good morning Mother, you're early,” Sansa answers, an apologetic smile to Jon as she gets up. “How are you this lovely day?” 

“Tell me it isn't true Sansa, tell me the paparazzi got their wires crossed and _you're not engaged to a man we didn't even know you were dating_!” 

Sansa winces, holding the phone away from her ear. 

“Is this some new plot of Petyr's? Did you and Joff think it would-”

“No Mom,” Sansa interrupts, “I fired Petyr. And I'll bring Jon to the next family dinner, I hear you've already met him.” 

“A musician,” her mother says with an impressive amount of derision considering once she herself had been a singer. 

“Yes,” Sansa says. Her phone beeps, and as her mother goes off about the inherent untrustworthiness of musicians, Sansa looks at the display. 

Jeyne is calling. Sansa's stomach twists unpleasantly, and she hits ignore, tuning back into her mother's rant. 

“-and that's how I know-”

“Just give him a chance please,” Sansa says, biting back what she really wants to say about her eldest son trying to be a musician too.

Catelyn sighs heavily, “Next Friday, 7 o'clock, you may bring him.” 

Sansa's brows come together, and she notices Jon sneaking a raspberry off her plate out of the corner of her eye. “I thought the dinner wasn't until next month?” 

“And give you two enough time to elope? Heavens no, we'll see you next Friday.”

Sansa says goodbye and hangs up, delicately laying down on the bed and grabbing a strawberry. 

“So how much did you hear?” 

Jon winces, “Your mother's voice carries.” 

“Yeah, sorry about her. What are your parents like?” Sansa asks, tugging a blanket over her legs. 

“My father's why I got into music. He used to play the harp for us kids every night, playing new songs he wrote. Now he's doing the business side of Targ Enterprises, but he still pulls out the harp for the holidays,” Jon says. 

“That sounds really nice,” Sansa says, closing her eyes and imagining a smaller Jon. 

“Yeah,” he says, letting out a small chuckle. “I've tried to play the harp a million times, but my fingers are no good for it. My sister Rhaenys plays beautifully. And our Mum's the most supportive person in the world. I have eight cousins just from her brother Oberyn, and every time they're over Mum somehow makes them all feel comfortable, knows all their interests and dreams.” 

Sansa smiles into the pillow, “She sounds like a queen.” 

“Yeah,” Jon says softly, “she kinda is.” 

The silence is comfortable, everything is comfortable. Sansa isn't worried about how long she'll be staying at the Marriott or if she should get her own apartment or if she left anything at Joffrey's or what she's doing with her career without someone to plan it for her. All her problems feel distant like this, and there's nothing she _has_ to do today. 

“-you going back to sleep?” Jon asks. 

“Mhmm,” Sansa agrees, she can't remember the last time she slept in. 

There's some movement in the room, and Sansa's very tempted to open her eyes. But she's not going to perv on her fake fiance, no matter how enticing the idea is. He tucks her in with the fluffy comforter, and she slowly puts together that he must have moved the remnants of their breakfast. 

“Thanks Jon,” she mumbles, and his hand skims over her shoulder. 

“Sleep well.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Margaery have a spa day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Margaery's nails](http://paulinaspassions.com/valentines-roses-nail-art-tutorial/) (but with green stripes instead of black) & [Sansa's](http://www.chalkboardnails.com/2013/09/31dc2013-day-07-black-and-white.html)

Sansa's second wake up is much lazier than her first, and she fades in and out of sleep for an hour or so. It isn't until her phone vibrates that she opens her eyes, groaning at her cell's bright _11:04am_. There's a text from Margaery from a few hours back, _girls day?_ , and that sounds beyond perfect. Sansa sends back a quick, _yes please! ilu_ , and sets about getting dressed. 

Jon left a note saying he had band practice, and Sansa reminds herself it's okay to take a day off. Hell, she could take a week off and things would be okay. Her stomach squirms a bit uncomfortably at the thought, that she hasn't earned such a vacation yet, and her phone vibrates again, saving her from the deliberation.

11:06am: _i love you too_  
11:07am: _i'm also down for lesbian day_  
11:07am: _or threesome day if the rumors are true ;)_  
11:08am: _**funny. meet you at shae's in fifteen?**_  
11:08am: _see you then <3_

Margaery greets Sansa outside the spa with a tight hug, a small frown on her face. “I've already had them set up a mud bath for us, but we can go throw eggs at the Lannisters' if you'd prefer.” 

Sansa laughs weakly, “No thank you. A spa day is- this is just what I need.” 

Margaery smiles, “Good.” 

A few minutes later they've checked in, stripped down, and are submerged in the warm bath. 

“I thought it was you,” Sansa confesses, needs to get it off her chest before it's grown too big. “I knew you didn't like him, but Joffrey's always been curious about you and...” 

“Why didn't you say something to me?” Margaery gently asks. 

“Because if it was, Petyr would have made us stop being friends and I didn't want that.” 

“Oh, Sansa. Darling, I wouldn't have done that to you.” 

Sansa shrugs, meeting her eyes again, “I'm sorry about being distant. Anyways, I fired Petyr so it wouldn't matter anyways.” 

“Good for you,” Margaery says, and then adds on in a playful tone, “besides for sucking up to Lannisters I would have gone to Cersei first.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes, “She would have killed you.”

“Oh no,” Margaery says, flicking some mud with her fingertips. “I think a smaller death would have sufficed.” 

“Gross. What about that sailor girl of yours? Yara?” Sansa lets her eyes drift closed, warm and comfortable and not even slightly sleepy. 

Margaery sighs, “She wanted me to go around the world with her.” 

“That sounds nice?”

“In a _boat_ Sansa! It would take forever and she started talking about destiny and ugh. She was too much of a real adult.” 

Sansa rolls her closed eyes, “And Tyene wasn't a real adult?” 

“Mmm, I should call her. Maybe she's single again. Did I tell you about the thing she does with her-”

“Yes!” Sansa exclaims, eyes popping open. 

Margaery laughs, “Fine, fine. So tell me about your engagement- how did it happen so quickly?” 

Sansa swallows, “Well we ran into each other, um after I broke things off with Joff. We were drinking and talking, and I said I didn't want to date anyone for a while and he asked how I felt about being engaged.” 

Margaery squeals, “That's so sweet!” 

“Yeah, I still can't believe it.” 

Margaery pouts, suddenly remembering, “You promised to give Willas a try so we could be sisters.” 

“And should I become single again, I will. I'll refuse all others until we've at least gotten dinner,” Sansa promises anew.

“It's as though you don't even want to be the Lady of High Garden,” Margaery teases. 

“Mhmm, so tell me how is Loras doing?” Sansa asks. 

Margaery sighs dramatically, “Running Storm's End with Renly. Grandmother is still upset he isn't doing more with his education, but he's happy- she'll begrudgingly accept the club eventually.”

Sansa frowns, “Does she complain about Willas merely running the gardens?” 

“Of course not, that's a respectable family business,” she answers. 

A thought hits her then, and it's not entirely proper, but Margaery's never minded such things. “Doesn't Storm's End have a much higher income?” Sansa asks. 

Margaery laughs, “And you've hit why Grandmother can't just order him to find a new job. Storm's End could be High Garden's only customer for all the roses Renly decorates that place with.” 

Her brows furrow, “Wait, I didn't know you sold flowers, where?” 

Margaery rolls her eyes, “It's all very hush-hush since it isn't a thing _proper_ botanical gardens do or some such nonsense.” Margaery grasps her hands beneath the mud, and Sansa doesn't know how Margaery does it without hitting her knee or something by mistake, a light flush burning in her cheeks at the thought. “We could do your wedding flowers, you'll want your favorite winter roses yes?” 

Sansa's laugh is strained, “Absolutely. We'll be having a rather long engagement though.”

Margaery squeezes her hands once more before releasing them. “So you haven't had sex with him yet.” 

Sansa looks away, definitely can't lie about that one. “No.” 

“Never fear,” Margaery says with a sweet and wicked grin. “From what I hear from Yara from Val, your boy's _very_ good with his mouth.” 

It takes a minute to click, and Sansa's bright red. “Margaery!”

“There are worse reasons to marry,” she teases. More seriously she adds on, “I think he'll be a good first, gentle and caring.” 

Sansa smiles, a blush still burning in her cheeks, “Me too.” 

“Really your only better option would be me,” Margaery says, and before Sansa can respond, Margaery's standing up, stepping out of the bath. Even covered in mud Margaery is stunning, though it's more of a thin sheet of mud, her every dip and curve apparent. 

Margaery takes pity on her, or maybe she's completely missed how breathless and thoughtless Sansa is, saying, “Let's wash off, maybe get our nails done next?” 

Sansa nods, “Sounds good,” coming out a little uneven. Margaery leaves, and Sansa only realizes once she's gone that she was staring at her friend's ass and she needs to get a hold of herself. The attraction to Margaery was nothing new, but she had never said anything so…. bold to Sansa. 

She probably wasn't even being serious, Sansa assures herself as she gets out of the bath. Margaery flirts with plenty of people without ever doing anything. Besides she was engaged and Margaery always spoke of them being sisters. Sansa was being silly, she would have never even considered this a few days ago. Shaking off such thoughts, Sansa heads into the showers, washing away the mud.

Redressed, they both get seated at Shae's table for their nails and Sansa flips through a little catalog of nail art as Margaery gets white and green stripes, topped with small gold dots and pink roses. Margaery hits on Shae as they gossip about anything and everything- well not _everything_ , Sansa notices that she's avoiding mentioning the Lannisters. It's sweet and it soothes the completely irrational prick of jealousy when Margaery compliments Shae and the way Shae responds, sharp and flirtatious. 

“Anything else you'd like before I do your friend's nails?” Shae asks, her voice husky enough to make Sansa want to blush. 

“Hmm, these are lovely,” Margaery says, admiring her nails. “The only lovelier thing I can imagine, is you above me, giving me a facial.”

“Margaery!” Sansa shrieks, and Shae giggles, waving her off. 

“Go dry your nails. Have you picked a design?” Shae says. 

Sansa nods, turning the book around, “I like the smoky one, could it have white smoke instead of pink though?” 

“Of course,” Shae says, grabbing black and white polishes, “it'll look good with the ring.” 

Sansa smiles as Shae removes the polish she's already wearing, the chipping polka dots. “Good. How are things with Tyrion?” The only Lannister I care about, isn't said, but she's sure Shae hears it regardless. 

Shae's smile widens, “Very well. My little lion's gotten tenure so he might roar at foolish law students forevermore. He does enjoy making them quake in their seats as they learn.” 

Sansa softly laughs, “I imagine they all get their homework done on time.” 

“Mhmm,” Shae says as she applies the black polish, “He finally has a good assistant this year too, Pod. So he's home more often, it's good.”

Sansa smiles, “I'm glad to hear that.” 

Shae falls silent as she does the white smoke, and Sansa doesn't mind at all, it feels almost like meditation watching Shae's tiny movements as she paints. Thoughts come slowly, clearly like this. She should set up a date with Jon tomorrow, something public with cute pictures. Or at the very least bring coffee to wherever his band practices. Tonight she should write a song, start a new album. She hates the one that's only half done, littered with Petyr's fingerprints and a fake younger version of herself. She wants to make something true, and even if everyone else hates it, it'll be _hers_. 

Sansa reaches resolution as Shae finishes a topcoat, and the nails do look good with the ring. 

“Do you like it?” Shae asks. 

Sansa smiles down at her fingers, can already see them dancing across piano keys as she writes. “I love them, thank you- this is perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know there's no Jon in this chapter. But other than /maybe/ chapter 9, he'll be in all the others, pinkie promise. This weekend's looking pretty busy for me, but fingers crossed chapter 4 won't take too long!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa go on a very public date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even cutting out some events that I wanted in this chapter, it's longer than normal, yay \o/ also due to moving stuff to chapter 5, the new aim is 11 chapters, woo-hoo!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to noirhalo, who made [a beautiful cover](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7578763) to go with this story <3

Sansa wakes up late for the second morning in a row, but this time she doesn't feel refreshed. Lazy and sluggish instead, she wants to crawl back under the covers she kicked off and fall asleep again. She's halfway to back in dreamland when she remembers she's meeting Jon for brunch, and bolts upright, unlocking her phone. Scrolling to their texts, she sees that late last night they agreed to change their meeting time from eleven-thirty to ten-thirty, which gives her fourteen minutes to get ready. 

Quietly cursing, Sansa jumps out of bed, reaching for her short sleeved 'I'm running late' day dress and a pair of leggings. Thirteen minutes, _dammit_ , she thinks, shedding her pajamas and pulling on a pair of panties and a bra. Hair and makeup eat up nine minutes, and she finishes getting dressed, and then adds a pair of simple sandals. 

Four minutes and she still has to meet Jon at the damn brunch place. Stuffing money in one pocket and her phone in the other, Sansa takes a quick look at herself in the mirror. She looks like a normal person, almost laughs that she'll certainly be photographed like this. Grabbing the room's key card, Sansa heads out, taking the stairs when one elevator is ten floors away and the other is already going down. It's only four flights of stairs anyways, Sansa thinks as she rushes down them, almost slipping around the last few turns. 

Checking her phone once more before hitting the lobby, she has two minutes. Two minutes and- Jon's here. Jon's already here, holding a white hibiscus with a dark red center, only looking a little less awkward when he spots her. 

“Hey, what's that for?” Sansa asks, greeting him with a hug. 

“You,” Jon says, tucking the flower behind her ear. 

Sansa kind of wants to laugh and swoon, settles on, “That was smooth.” 

Jon's lips quirk up, “That's all I got. Brunch?” 

“Yeah,” Sansa says, and taking his hand, they walk out into the world with far less camera flashes than usual. It's a pleasant surprise, and she turns to Jon. “Who did you pay and how much?” 

Jon shakes his head, “It's all Melisandre. She told them where we'll be eating so they'll be waiting there instead.” 

Sansa nods, ignoring the twinge of disappointment that's completely counterproductive. “Mhmm, so how did you pick the place? I don't think I've heard of The Keep before.” 

“Sam's girlfriend, Gilly- she and her sisters run the whole place.” Jon scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “I hope you don't mind- we like to give the place publicity when we can.” 

“Of course,” Sansa says, though she can't help but hoping the food's good or that they have a liquor license in case it isn't. “Gilly must have a few sisters then?” 

Jon lets out a small laugh, “Yeah, eighteen of them.” 

Sansa's jaw drops and she almost trips over a dent in the sidewalk. “Wha- how?”

“Most of them are half sisters, they're all really tight though. Took Sam a month of only eating there before he convinced them he had Gilly's best intentions at heart.” 

“That's sweet,” Sansa says as they come into view of The Keep. The outside's more than a little rustic, but before Sansa can take anymore in, the paparazzi have spotted them, cameras flashing like mad. 

Jon's hand tenses in hers, and he gets them through the crowd far faster than Sansa would've been able to, and suddenly they're in the restaurant. 

An older woman playfully smacks Jon's shoulder, “You've gone and scared off all our business, you better plan on eating a lot little watcher. Gilly ain't even here to properly chastise you.” 

Jon's cheeks almost look pink for a split second, “Nella this is Sansa, Sansa-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nella interrupts, “you'll be wanting your usual booth in the back?” 

“No, we'll take the window table,” Sansa says, and belatedly turns to Jon, “unless um, you wanted the booth.” 

“Oh ho, right under the sign. Yes, yes, this way,” Nella says, leading them to the front table and placing two menus down. “Dyah will be right with you.” 

“Thanks,” Sansa says, opening the menu. “Um, this is alright right?” Sansa asks as the cameras keep flashing from the road. 

Jon smiles, grabbing her left hand- with the ring and closer to the window- and kisses her knuckles, looking up at her. “Yeah.”

Sansa can't breathe for a second, says without thinking, “I really hope they got that shot.” 

And Jon chuckles, picking up his own menu, “I'd hate to have to do that a dozen more times.” 

It sounds more like flirting than teasing, but Sansa's been thinking that a lot lately, and maybe she's just more shaken up by the breakup than she thought, that she's seeking ways to get reattached as quickly as possible. 

“Depending on what you order, I could be persuaded to steal some off your plate. That's got to be worth at least one,” Sansa says. 

“And the other eleven?” Jon asks, eyes twinkling. 

Sansa's mouth goes dry as it hits her again how gorgeous he is, how many things she'd be happy to do with him in front of the cameras or not. The waitress appears then, saving Sansa from having to think of an answer. 

“Bout time you brought someone properly famous here,” Dyah says. Jon's groan is largely ignored by the waitress, and Sansa smothers the giggles that want to pass her lips. “What can I get you two to drink?” 

Sansa's been eyeing the mimosa pitchers, but it sounds like a silly idea and like a pr nightmare in the making. 

“The pitchers are a decent size if you want to split something,” Jon offers, and Sansa doesn't know if he means for the mimosas or freshly squeezed lemonade, and Sansa doesn't care. It's as good as a sign, and she's always liked those. 

Sansa smiles up at Dyah, “A mimosa pitcher please.” 

Jon raises an eyebrow once the waitress leaves, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” 

“After we got engaged last time? I wouldn't dream of it,” Sansa says.

Jon's look is all too knowing, burns her very soul. 

“Oh yeah,” she continues, purposefully light, “we might end up adopting a dog.” 

Dyah comes back with their drinks and takes their orders, and Sansa sips deeply, burying the memory of Petyr saying she couldn't adopt Lady- if she wanted a dog it had to be smaller, less threatening looking. 

Jon leans forward, probably romantic looking through the glass, but from here he looks to be at least half mischief. 

“I have a dog,” he says. 

Sansa's eyes light up, “Tell me about them.” 

“Ghost, he's a big white Alaskan Malamute. Not the friendliest with other dogs,” Jon says. “Probably a good thing,” he admits, “or I'd bring a new puppy home every week.” 

Sansa smiles, “He sounds lovely, I hope I get to meet him.” 

“Er,” Jon starts, but then Dyah already has their food somehow and he never finishes the thought.

They had agreed on ordering a bunch of side dishes to share, a mini buffet for them, and now with the food in front of them, Sansa is beginning to think they _might_ have over-ordererd. There's bacon and scrambled eggs and ham and muffins and sausage and strawberries and miniature pancakes and melon and toast and hash browns and cinnamon rolls and Sansa's simultaneously full and hungry from just looking at it all. 

“Cheers,” Jon says, and Sansa clinks his glass. 

“You really think we can eat all this?” Sansa asks after sipping. 

Jon shrugs, “You haven't tried Ferny's cooking yet.” 

Sansa supposes that's true, going for the bacon first. It tastes like _magic_. 

Sansa doesn't know if it's how very long it's been since she ate greasy foods or if it is Ferny's cooking or both, but she's polished off the plate with singular focus, only realizing it's all gone when she reaches for another piece. 

“So you like it?” Jon asks, and Sansa's eyes widen, grabbing a strawberry. 

“Ohmygod, I just totally ate all of the bacon. I'm so sorry- do you want-”

“It's fine,” Jon says with an easy smile. “I'm in more of a ham mood this morning.” 

“How about strawberries?” Sansa asks, needing something cute to hopefully distract Jo- _the paparazzi_ from her stuffing her face. 

Jon says, “Sure,” and Sansa lifts the strawberry to his lips, a small smirk on her face. 

“For my darling fiance.” 

The window glows with all the flashes, and Jon bites, his lips and scruff brushing against her fingertips. His tongue chases a drop of juice that trailed down her thumb, and Margaery's words that he's good with his mouth are ringing in her ears. 

“Right,” Sansa mutters to herself, dropping the strawberry's top on her plate. An awkward silence falls, with fake smiles and Sansa's thinking about asking where the bathroom is when Jon's phone goes off. 

It's blasting Sansa's first single, _What If_ , and her jaw drops. 

“Fucking Ygritte,” Jon says, “sorry- Mel's calling, do you mind?” 

“By all means,” Sansa says, grabbing her glass as he heads to the back of the restaurant. She picks at the melon, careful to keep her face neutral. If anything happened that required him to leave, doubtless this would be the photo they used of her- eating and drinking alone, the horror. 

Dyah comes over then, picking up the empty plates. “How's your food?” 

“Marvelous,” Sansa says, doting her mouth with the a napkin. “The bacon especially,” Sansa adds, almost guiltily. 

Dyah laughs loudly, “He must really love you then- I've seen him and Sam fight to blood over that bacon.” 

“No!” Sansa exclaims, two hands over her gleeful mouth. 

“Oh yes,” Dyah says with a wide grin. “Gilly wouldn't let Sam come back until he learned, what was it, ah yes- how to share like a real gentleman scholar.” 

“Gods, I ate all of it,” Sansa confesses. 

“So you'll be wanting another side of bacon then?” Dyah asks, and it's probably a joke due to how much food is still on the table. But Jon hasn't even touched the ham, and she's pretty sure he's just too nice to say anything about it. 

“Yeah, please- that'd be great.” 

Dyah leaves, presumably to the kitchen, and Sansa practices her, 'I'm totally comfortable eating alone in front of a billion cameras, why wouldn't I be?' face. 

…it might need a little work, and a new name. 

Dyah drops off the bacon when Sansa's mouth is full of pancake, and she casually swaps it with the muffins so the bacon's right before his plate. And then, since she has the plate of muffins, she mine as well grab a chocolate chip one. 

Jon comes back right after a few crumbs slip down her dress and she can't think of an even vaguely good way to extract them in front of the cameras. She settles for shifting until they aren't noticeable little annoyances. 

“Sorry about that, Mel can be a little, micromanage-y,” Jon says. 

“How is your band doing?” Sansa asks. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jon says, picking up a piece of bacon. “we all got really drunk after practice and it's all good now.” 

“Cheers to that,” Sansa says, their glasses clinking once more. 

Jon goes for another piece of bacon, and Sansa figures now is probably the best time to bring it up. “So, Margaery was asking how we came to be engaged.” 

“Mhmm,” Jon says through a closed mouth of food, and Sansa finds herself far more charmed than she ought to be. 

“I told her how I wasn't ready to date anyone, and you asked about being engaged instead.” 

Jon's eyes go comically wide, and he hastily swallows, “I'd never do that.”

“Okay,” Sansa says, “can you think of a plausible reason then?” 

“Nah, it's good,” Jon says, “just um, a little out of character.” 

“Enough for people to notice?” Sansa asks. 

Jon bites his lip, “Only Sam and Ygritte, if you come to practice sometime I'm sure it'll smooth over.” 

Sansa smiles, “And here I was ready to bribe you with baked goods to watch the Watchers.” 

“You're still welcome to bring them,” Jon says. “And um, not to rush you, but an interview got bumped up this afternoon and Mel wants to go over the talking points once more.” 

“What happened to eating everything?” Sansa teases, but Jon's face falls and she backtracks. “I'm kidding, this was perfect. Let's get the check.” 

Jon stands, “I already paid.” 

“Wha-” Sansa starts, standing. “But we're not really, I should have-”

“Too late,” Jon says, softly cutting her off and cupping her cheek. 

“Fine,” Sansa says before she turns to a puddle of mush. “next time, I'm paying.” 

Jon smiles, his hand dropping down to hold hers, “Deal.” 

The way out is even brighter than their entrance, this time littered with questions. Jon leads her through the pack, a question about the thanks mate meme making her smile and the one about her no longer watching her weight or image has her rolling her eyes. 

But then, there's one that makes her stop, hand frozen in Jon's. 

“Is it true that Petyr Baelish is suing for half the profits of the unreleased _Duck, Duck, Girl_?”

Sansa spots the reporter quickly, a sharp smile on her lips. “There's no need for that, the album's trash, he can have it.” 

Jon squeezes her hand, and she goes with him before there's a follow-up question. A solid date, she thinks, quickly amending it to: a solid _fake_ date.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Artwork: Lady Sansa and The Watchers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578763) by [noirhalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noirhalo/pseuds/noirhalo)




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